[Farren Abercrombie]

She got up and followed him to the counter hanging back at the corner as he went through his drawer which was clearly pushing the limits of an extension charm. He looked so eccentric pouring over all of his bottles and vials she smiled, bemused. It was shocking that anything other than Hoyer populated his mind when it came to her given their history with the composer. Of course she was curious what he thought of instead but there would be time for that later.

Smiling as he set the vials in front of her she hesitated for a moment before picking up the first. The gold flecks catching the light as she fiddled with the stopper. As soon as it was open she knew it was a perfume, the scent catching her immediately. Carefully she raised the stopper, it's end saturated by the perfume, towards her nose. Inhaling her eyes fell closed for a moment. Rich, deep, sensual. It was lush. When the word sexy popped into her head she was less alarmed than when it had appeared earlier in the evening. "Mmmmm" was all she could manage as her gaze flickered back to him. "It's..." she inhaled again, "Luxuriously sensual," she was unaware that her cheeks were flushed. "I love it," she said reluctantly returning the stopper to the vial. "Perhaps when I come by after work on Friday you'll tell me how you learned to do this," she smiled slyly at him. Farren had no idea what was on her calendar that her assistant would have to cancel. He'd said to tell him when she was free. This perfume had made that choice for her, Friday.

Setting the perfume down she reached for the second bottle. When he'd been handling it a green glow had appeared within the liquid but now it seemed to be plain. Open it away from her, she had been directed and as she handled it the liquid started to take on a shimmering glow and a lilac hue. Cupping it in her hand she smiled looking down at it. "Curious," she said bemused glancing up at him to make sure he didn't seem alarmed it wasn't green again.

"Here goes," she said, moving to pry the lid off, facing it away from both of them. Something shot out of the bottle and she shrieked in surprise, laughing at herself for being so surprised. A bright pink swirl of shimmer and sparks filled the air above them. Beaming, stunned she glanced over at him before turning to look up at the fizzing sparks and shimmering ribbons of sparkles that had shifted back to lilac now. In awe she reached up to touch some of them laughing as the little sparkles tingled against her fingers. Her face turned up to the ceiling she watched as the shimmers slowly fizzed down towards her, disappearing instead of landing on any of the surfaces. "Declan..." she said still watching the sparkles going off over their heads, "Wow..." she turned to admire them from another angle, leaning back against the counter beside him.

When they all fizzed out she stood in stunned silence for a moment. For a moment she wondered if he'd planned literally every second of this. Of course he hadn't but it was too lovely an experience to just be random wasn't it? The ball of anxious nerves in her stomach seemed to have settled again. The mead was making her warm and fuzzy, at least she chose to credit the mead. "I don't know if my dreams can hold a candle to this," she said looking back at him. "This is.....incredible," she said, almost sighing.

Standing next to him, a smile still on her lips, she thought. Not many people asked her these kinds of questions. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time anyone had cared to ask her these things. There were a few things that came to mind but she wasn't sure. "If I'm honest.....no one really asks me this," she said softly, still turning a few things over in her mind, "I suppose what first comes to mind is the music room at Dalemain. I have a grand piano sat next to huge windows. I can sit for hours and play, the sunlight streams into the room, the view out over the grassy hills is perfect. I can't think of anything that makes me happier." It was quaint, she knew that, but she wasn't trying to be cute. Under the grandeur and money and position she was still a girl who grew up on what was essentially a farm.

Her expression was distant as her mind swirled with thoughts. She could drink on this question but she didn't really want to. It was nice, someone asking her real questions about herself and who she actually was. "I have this recurring dream a lot of the time. It's always night. I'm alone walking through some kind of field or wild flowers or something like that. I'm alone, it's dead quiet except the wind. Then I get to the water. Usually there is a dock, sometimes it's a pebble beach. Everything is very calm. I walk to the edge of the dock. I take off every stitch of clothing I have on and climb into the water. Then I walk and walk through the water until it's up to my eyes and then I start swimming into the open water and I just....keep swimming."

Biting her bottom lip she stared down for a moment. She'd been having this dream for years now. It'd started when she got married and never stopped. When it'd first started she thought it was about escaping her marriage, maybe it was. After Clive died she thought it would stop but it didn't. She didn't put too much stock in dreams, but the fact that it never stopped made her think whatever she needed hadn't been found.

Finally she looked back at him and offered a small smile. Everything about this evening was wonderful.  "Maybe I should have drank on that one," she teased softly. "I'm tempted to abandon my questions and demand to test every bottle in that drawer," she grinned, eyeing the drawer. "But....I suppose I may see a lot of that at the shop. "So....what is something that always makes you sad? And....or rather.....what is one of your favorite memories?"

[Declan O'Dwyer]

He hadn't really planned for it, but the evening turned out to be truly glorious. He allowed himself a proud little smile as she admired his firework potion. It had taken a long time to create and refine. Perhaps much longer than could be considered acceptable for such a whimsical concoction. Seeing her smile was extremely satisfying. This was exactly the kind of reaction he had in mind when he had fist started designing the potion. It was that moment of unadulterated, exuberant enjoyment he had wanted to capture. For a moment the air felt pregnant with things that remained unsaid between the two of them. He gave her a soft look, internally debating the question of pushing this further.

Thankfully, she broke the enchanted silence answering his questions before he had settled on an answer to his internal struggle. It was no big surprise than music was the first place her mind went when asked about what made her happy. The part that was curious to his mind was that she saw herself at Dalemain. Sure, it was her childhood home, but hadn't her life there been difficult and restrictive? Not that he judged her for that; he held similar conflicted emotions about his home.

Her dream was even more interesting. He hadn't meant the question quite so literally, but he wasn't mad that she'd interpreted his words differently. Swimming naked. He could picture it far too easily, while the hint of a blush was creeping into his cheeks. Why was she sharing this particular dream out of all possible options. Something about it sounded like she longed for change and perhaps a new horizon to chase. He tried to force his thoughts along the path of serious analysys, but his mind was momentarily hung on the mentioned absence of clothing. It took effort to not mentally undress her and stare inappropriately.

Was she trying to embarrass him? He couldn't say and cast his eyes down to the floor to keep himself from making an inappropriate move.

"Maybe you should have drunk on that one," he said mirthfully.

Thankfully she changed the topic quickly and was back to his potions. "A lot of them are not that interesting," Declan conceded. "Standard prescriptions, classic scents, high end potions. But you are welcome to look around. I do most of my brewing here away from the buzz of either London or Dublin. I like the serenity. Easier to brew with a clear mind. "

Her questions took him by surprise, feeling suddenly far too close and personal. "Something that always makes me sad?" He intoned, taking a moment to think about it. "Any of the Celtic calendar festivals. Not sure which is worse, Imbolc or Lughnasadh. But one of those two. If I'm not drunk, maudlin and close to emotional collapse by the end of such an evening we're talking about miracles." He didn't notice that this answer on its own didn't make a lot of sense without him explaining the context.

"As for favourite memory: Reading Mícheál Óg Ó Longáin for the first time. Nothing is quite as precious as opening a good book of poetry in a special place. Though reading works again for a second and third time is great, nothing compares to finding something you truly love." He didn't know how he felt about admitting this to her. Even more so than the aforementioned calendar festivals, the topic of poetry could be a minefield. Many emotions mixed up and tangled, brushing on things he didn't have a good handle on himself.

He forgot to ask her another question, and just looked into her eyes, momentarily lost to his thoughts, emotions and melancholy sentiment.

"Is it time to return?" He asked carefully, wondering how long they'd been gone for and if their absence had been noted.

[Farren Abercrombie]

Farren smiled, a little embarrassed. He'd asked so she'd told him the dream she had so often it came easily to mind. She wasn't sure why he could barely look at her, she'd just answered his question honestly but he didn't seem upset so she wasn't going to let herself dwell on it.

As he explained his potions and how many of them were rather what you might expect to find from a potioner she began to wonder where exactly they were. He'd never actually clarified that had he? Other than just - Ireland. She knew the O'Dwyers had multiple properties but had no idea which Declan preferred or where he might consider his 'country' home away from the flat in Dublin she'd learned about just this evening.

While she knew the Celtic Calendar as much as any reasonably cultured person of Scottish ancestry she couldn't remember partaking in any such celebrations herself since she was a small girl. The Scots did things differently than the Irish anyways and while she had an idea she wasn't even sure they called the holidays the same names. She had no idea through festivals would make him sad. Presumably because he had to deal with his difficult father but he offered little in the way of reasoning. So she just nodded, holidays, if you could call them that, were challenging she supposed. This all seemed to be a weak answer though, most people hate something about holidays and felt they were a chore.

Things didn't get much better on the second question. She had no idea who Mícheál Óg Ó Longáin was. He did confirm it was a poet though thankfully helping her out. Declan had always been a thoughtful person, she was hardly surprised he enjoyed Irish poetry. Perhaps it was a bit surprising that he found it so fulfilling it was one of his favorite memories. Of course tomorrow she would send her assistant to find this book or books. The last two things he'd mentioned made her realize she was woefully out of touch with Irish culture which was both professionally unacceptable and somehow she felt awkward being so ignorant here and now. She wasn't sure why all of a sudden it mattered. Farren wasn't the type to read much poetry but there was something inside her telling her this mattered.

He looked over at her with an expression she couldn't quite untangle. Did he feel as strange as she did? She wasn't anxious really but she wasn't exactly relaxed. Something felt uneasy but not in an unpleasant way. Somehow she was happy, this had been a lot of fun, but simultaneously pensive. Things had reverted so quickly to being close and friendly, like they'd hardly been apart. Yet they had been, for a long time, there was so much left unsaid hanging about them in the air.

Of course, the party, he was supposed to be running a business. She didn't want to go. She wanted him to ask her more questions, more fun, more laughter. Alas it was rude to keep him from such an important evening. It didn't really matter to her if she missed the whole party but of course the women there would notice she was gone. While unlikely if any of the Dames put together the dots that their elusive host had gone missing around the same time she had that could be a bother.

"I guess I can't keep you from your own party," she said not saying one way or the other if she actually wanted to go back. Instead she offered him a little smile, "I'm sure half your store will be bought before the evening is over." Lifting her hand she waved it summoning their partially consumed mead glasses to her. "If we are going back, just one toast I think is called for." Grinning she handed him his glass again. Giving him time to say no or refuse was not allowed, she was already raising her glass. "To serendipitous reunions and the revitalization of friendships once thought lost. And vanishing cabinets."

[Declan O'Dwyer]

Almost as soon as he mentioned going back, he regretted it again. Their time together had been wonderful, and reconnecting felt good. Still, he couldn't walk out on his own opening night - even if he didn't enjoy the parties very much. He sighed briefly and gave her a wistful look.

"To vanishing cabinets and further adventures," he toasted back. The alcohol was clearly needed to work himself up to facing the fine ladies in his shop.

He sauntered back to the vanishing cabinet and opened it for her. "After you, dear," he offered softly. He didn't want to risk being up close and personal with her in the moment. He felt tipsy and he she looked good enough to kiss. It wasn't a safe combination of things.